Над пропастью во ржи

           "WhyshouldI? "Isaid—Iwaspracticallyyelling. "That’sjustthetroublewithallyoumorons. Youneverwanttodiscussanything. That’sthewayyoucanalwaystellamoron. Theyneverwanttodiscussanythingintellig—" 

           Thenhereallyletonegoatme,andthenextthingIknewIwasonthegoddamflooragain. Idon’trememberifheknockedmeoutornot,butIdon’tthinkso. It’sprettyhardtoknockaguyout,exceptinthegoddammovies. Butmynosewasbleedingallovertheplace. WhenIlookedupoldStradlaterwasstandingpracticallyrightontopofme. Hehadhisgoddamtoiletkitunderhisarm. "Whythehelldon’tchashutupwhenItellyato?"hesaid. Hesoundedprettynervous.Heprobablywasscaredhe’dfracturedmyskullorsomethingwhenIhitthefloor. It’stoobadIdidn’t. "Youaskedforit,Goddamnit,"hesaid. Boy,didhelookworried. 

           Ididn’tevenbothertogetup. Ijustlaythereinthefloorforawhile,andkeptcallinghimamoronsonuvabitch. Iwassomad,Iwaspracticallybawling. 

           "Listen.Gowashyourface,"Stradlatersaid. "Yahearme?" 

           Itoldhimtogowashhisownmoronface—whichwasaprettychildishthingtosay,butIwasmadashell. ItoldhimtostopoffonthewaytothecanandgiveMrs.Schmidtthetime. Mrs.Schmidtwasthejanitor’swife.Shewasaroundsixty-five. 

           IkeptsittingthereonthefloortillIheardoldStradlaterclosethedoorandgodownthecorridortothecan. ThenIgotup. Icouldn’tfindmygoddamhuntinghatanywhere. FinallyIfoundit. Itwasunderthebed. Iputiton,andturnedtheoldpeakaroundtotheback,thewayIlikedit,andthenIwentoverandtookalookatmystupidfaceinthemirror.